Tuesday, August 14, 2007
I Have Been Tagged
The last post sports a comment wherein a fellow-survivor says she is participating in an internet meme and has tagged me "It." The rules are to post seven facts about myself and then tag seven other people, listing their names in my blog with links to get people there.
Well, I have a list of people's names to choose from right over yonder in the margin, but what if those people already got tagged and get irked at being tagged again? What if I start getting multiple tags from other people who are desperate to come up with seven people to tag? I could Google for survivors to tag, but what if they take unkindly to some random stranger tagging them? I just can't do it. I have a fear and horror of irritating people (which is quite unfortunate because I seem to do so regularly without intention anyway).
I'll go ahead and post some facts since I was asked, but I don't really want to intrude on other people.
1. I can't swim. I have an extreme dislike of putting my face in the water, and am almost always sure I am going to drown unless I have some kind of flotation device. However, I go to the beach every year for vacation.
2. I keep talking Brian out of selling his motorcycle, only partly because he enjoys riding so much. The other reason is that I think it's incredibly exciting to be married to a man who rides a Harley, and I would be sad to not be able to ride with him. Besides, what would I do with my chaps if he had no motorcycle?
3. I have chaps. They have fringe down the sides, tee hee.
4. My Star Wars Death Star Space Station Playset is complete with the original trash compactor foam and rope swing. I had to acquire components from multiple sources. eBay: allowing people to relive childhood for lots of money plus shipping.
5. I have ridden a camel at Giza and been inside one of the pyramids.
6. I was born two months early but was actually bigger than the other babies in the preemie ward. It was the first and last time I was ever "taller" than my peers. It is also one of the few times I have ever been early for anything.
7. I can recite the "Pledge of Allegiance" in Latin.
Well, I have a list of people's names to choose from right over yonder in the margin, but what if those people already got tagged and get irked at being tagged again? What if I start getting multiple tags from other people who are desperate to come up with seven people to tag? I could Google for survivors to tag, but what if they take unkindly to some random stranger tagging them? I just can't do it. I have a fear and horror of irritating people (which is quite unfortunate because I seem to do so regularly without intention anyway).
I'll go ahead and post some facts since I was asked, but I don't really want to intrude on other people.
1. I can't swim. I have an extreme dislike of putting my face in the water, and am almost always sure I am going to drown unless I have some kind of flotation device. However, I go to the beach every year for vacation.
2. I keep talking Brian out of selling his motorcycle, only partly because he enjoys riding so much. The other reason is that I think it's incredibly exciting to be married to a man who rides a Harley, and I would be sad to not be able to ride with him. Besides, what would I do with my chaps if he had no motorcycle?
3. I have chaps. They have fringe down the sides, tee hee.
4. My Star Wars Death Star Space Station Playset is complete with the original trash compactor foam and rope swing. I had to acquire components from multiple sources. eBay: allowing people to relive childhood for lots of money plus shipping.
5. I have ridden a camel at Giza and been inside one of the pyramids.
6. I was born two months early but was actually bigger than the other babies in the preemie ward. It was the first and last time I was ever "taller" than my peers. It is also one of the few times I have ever been early for anything.
7. I can recite the "Pledge of Allegiance" in Latin.
Labels: Brian, motorcycle, vacation
Friday, August 03, 2007
Message T-Shirt
What do you think? Is there a market for something like this? Do you think they'd sell 'em at Hot Topic?
I want one just because the idea of alluding to the F-word amuses me. I also find the notion of conceptually flipping the bird to "awareness" on my already-mutilated bosom to be somehow just and appropriate. I've got plenty of awareness. I've got more than I need. I don't need to be made aware; I need a bloody cure already.
Just in case anyone is worried about this, let me state for the record that I don't personally mind pink ribbons. I had one on my car; I have pink ribbon beanie babies both at home and the office, and I am happy to have not one, but THREE pink-ribbon motorcycle-riding teddy bear figurines (multiple family members and friends independently concluded it would be the perfect gift for me). I prefer seeing pink ribbon magnets on people's cars to those of other colors; it makes me feel pretty good to know that there are people pulling for me.
Unfortunately, the pervasiveness of the pink ribbon (you can buy pink kitchen mixers, for crying out loud) has disguised the fact that the job isn't done yet. People think that because the pink ribbon campaign is so successful, breast cancer research doesn't need any more money or attention.
"Awareness" often goes hand-in-hand with "early detection" or "prevention," neither of which does me a damn bit of good. I'm sure those things will help other people, but I find I am growing steadily more self-centered and don't care as much about other people and their "prevention" as I do about the fact that my medications are keeping me alive, but brutalizing my body and self-esteem.
I am very aware of how to detect cancer. I am very aware of what can happen if it goes undetected for a stupidly long time. I am aware of the scars on my chest, belly, arm, psyche, and memory.
I'll be waiting for my cure.
Labels: chemo, motorcycle, pink ribbon
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Anniversary!
For a while I've been marking cancerversaries. November 5: my surgery date. November 3: second bone scan and confirmation of metastatic disease. December: hospital stay. I don't think I will be able to forget and keep from feeling unease when late fall rolls around again, but a new marker of passing time is coming up.
February 25 will be Brian and my first wedding anniversary. I confess that when we got married, I was not entirely convinced that I would be seeing an anniversary, but I am thrilled and relieved to comment that my notion of impending doom was silly and that we will be seeing many more anniversaries.
February 14 will be my first Valentine's Day as a married person. April 13 is the anniversary of our first date (at La Shish...Brian rode his Harley for optimum impact). Spring is considered to be a time of renewal and rebirth. Usually this is represented by bunnies, tulips, and Cadbury eggs. I represent it by throwing off the shackles of my wheelchair, walker, and Fentanyl patches, and by celebrating what is good instead of being mired in what's miserable.
February 25 will be Brian and my first wedding anniversary. I confess that when we got married, I was not entirely convinced that I would be seeing an anniversary, but I am thrilled and relieved to comment that my notion of impending doom was silly and that we will be seeing many more anniversaries.
February 14 will be my first Valentine's Day as a married person. April 13 is the anniversary of our first date (at La Shish...Brian rode his Harley for optimum impact). Spring is considered to be a time of renewal and rebirth. Usually this is represented by bunnies, tulips, and Cadbury eggs. I represent it by throwing off the shackles of my wheelchair, walker, and Fentanyl patches, and by celebrating what is good instead of being mired in what's miserable.
Labels: anniversary, bone scan, Brian, cancerversary, fentanyl, hospital, metastasis, motorcycle, surgery, walker, wedding, wheelchair
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Cycle trauma
The other day at the appointment with Dr. Rodriguez (who is a physical rehabilitation specialist), it was determined that I am well enough now to not require further visits with her, and that should I desire physical therapy in the future or if anything comes up, I could see her "as needed," but for now I should consider myself as being graduated from physical therapy.
I asked about the CT scans she had ordered of my upper spine, since I had complained of some neck issues which seem to be causing numbness in my thumb when I turn my head to the left. It turns out there are metastatic lesions on that part of my spine as well, which isn't something she can really address.
Brian brought up the subject of whether or not it would be safe to ride a motorcycle, which she denied vehemently. I believe he was asking if RIDING could cause any problems, but she focused on what happens when you fall off or get hit by a car.
Of course nobody thinks that will happen.
Yesterday on the way home from the infusion, Brian asked what I thought about what she had said. There was a yellow bike ahead of us. I said I think that riding itself won't necessarily shake me to pieces and that the doctor is correct in that the consequences of actually having an accident are likely to be worse for me than for other people, but that it might be possible to ride safely. Brian also said he agreed completely with the doctor, that riding a bike isn't as safe as being in a car. It's true; you're totally exposed. But it might be possible to find a relatively safe place to go to ride where bikers are expected and common. We agreed Hines Park would be a good place to ride. At that moment the traffic got a little wonky. Things slowed down and we shifted lanes a little bit only to see that the yellow bike we had seen lay smashed in the middle of an intersection. The rider was lying face down on the pavement.
"Oh my God."
"Holy shit."
Brian pulled to the right and hopped out of the car to see if the rider was ok. I called 9-1-1, only to regret I didn't know exactly what part of 153 we were on. The operator told me they were getting other calls, so I thanked her and hung up. The rider appeared to be breathing, and I think had been advised to lay still in case of a neck or back injury. There wasn't much else we could do. When a police car pulled up to take control of the intersection, Brian got back in the car and we continued down the road. Brian said that the rider's face was smashed up from not wearing a more protective helmet.
Brian went out riding after we got home. I told him to be careful and was relieved when he got home in one piece. He later told me that the smashed yellow bike was still in the intersection but that the car and the rider were gone.
He was still thinking about the accident this morning.
I asked about the CT scans she had ordered of my upper spine, since I had complained of some neck issues which seem to be causing numbness in my thumb when I turn my head to the left. It turns out there are metastatic lesions on that part of my spine as well, which isn't something she can really address.
Brian brought up the subject of whether or not it would be safe to ride a motorcycle, which she denied vehemently. I believe he was asking if RIDING could cause any problems, but she focused on what happens when you fall off or get hit by a car.
Of course nobody thinks that will happen.
Yesterday on the way home from the infusion, Brian asked what I thought about what she had said. There was a yellow bike ahead of us. I said I think that riding itself won't necessarily shake me to pieces and that the doctor is correct in that the consequences of actually having an accident are likely to be worse for me than for other people, but that it might be possible to ride safely. Brian also said he agreed completely with the doctor, that riding a bike isn't as safe as being in a car. It's true; you're totally exposed. But it might be possible to find a relatively safe place to go to ride where bikers are expected and common. We agreed Hines Park would be a good place to ride. At that moment the traffic got a little wonky. Things slowed down and we shifted lanes a little bit only to see that the yellow bike we had seen lay smashed in the middle of an intersection. The rider was lying face down on the pavement.
"Oh my God."
"Holy shit."
Brian pulled to the right and hopped out of the car to see if the rider was ok. I called 9-1-1, only to regret I didn't know exactly what part of 153 we were on. The operator told me they were getting other calls, so I thanked her and hung up. The rider appeared to be breathing, and I think had been advised to lay still in case of a neck or back injury. There wasn't much else we could do. When a police car pulled up to take control of the intersection, Brian got back in the car and we continued down the road. Brian said that the rider's face was smashed up from not wearing a more protective helmet.
Brian went out riding after we got home. I told him to be careful and was relieved when he got home in one piece. He later told me that the smashed yellow bike was still in the intersection but that the car and the rider were gone.
He was still thinking about the accident this morning.
Labels: accident, CT scan, Dr. Rodriguez, infusion, motorcycle, physical therapy
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Do the Borg eat ice cream?
This week I will be undergoing a new spate of tests including multiple CT scans and a comprehensive bone scan. This is actually good news: it is Dr. Hayes' opinion that since I am doing so much better now than I was in November when he first saw me, and he wants a new set of baseline tests.
Since I was doing so much better, I asked about whether or not it would be advisable to ride a motorcycle. I wanted to know specifically if the shaking engine would cause my pelvis to fall apart or if I might be ok given smooth roads and a careful rider at the controls.
His face contorted. "Weeeeeell," he said, "I don't want to tell you not to do it if it's something you really feel you want to do, but I'm a doctor and the consequences for you if the bike goes down are really bad."
We regarded each other.
"I won't tell you no, but all I'm saying is if you do, I don't want to know about it," he blurted.
I have since ridden behind Brian on his motorcycle twice, using the helmet that was specifically bought for me and which I'm pretty sure Brian won't want to use (due to the fact that it is pink). I am not graceful getting on and climbing off, but we are working on that and I'm sure I'll get better at it given practice.
Anyway, I have a spate of tests tomorrow, and next week will have a port inserted that will make it easier to draw blood and do the monthly infusion. I hate having an i.v. inserted almost more than anything. They have such difficulty getting the i.v. in the veins in my right arm/hand that when I have to have it done, it takes multiple tries, and is torturously painful. A port should make things easier, but getting the port inserted is some kind of surgery, and I'm nervous about it. Will they knock me out? I tend to react poorly to anesthesia. Will they try to sedate me but keep me conscious? That didn't work AT ALL during my liver biopsy, and the fentanyl patches might interfere with the kind of medication they want to use for that. I'm also slightly freaked out about having a tube in my arm at all times. It seems inhuman to have tubes and things winding their way around the interior of my body. Borg have tubes on the outside, but I can't help feeling that the process has begun.
After having my biological and technological distinctiveness added to the collective, I will immediately get to test out the new port by having my monthly infusion, because by that time they just won't have tortured me enough for one day. Then of course comes the monthly shot in the stomach, the one that renders me menopausal and is the cause of the hot flashes I've been suffering with some increase in frequency.
On the other hand, my acne has finally gone away. It could be my new skin care regimen, but it's probably the hormone therapy. My nausea also seems to finally be under control, although I have not regained my appetite for anything but sweets.
We are Borg; We demand your ice cream and leftover Easter candy.
Since I was doing so much better, I asked about whether or not it would be advisable to ride a motorcycle. I wanted to know specifically if the shaking engine would cause my pelvis to fall apart or if I might be ok given smooth roads and a careful rider at the controls.
His face contorted. "Weeeeeell," he said, "I don't want to tell you not to do it if it's something you really feel you want to do, but I'm a doctor and the consequences for you if the bike goes down are really bad."
We regarded each other.
"I won't tell you no, but all I'm saying is if you do, I don't want to know about it," he blurted.
I have since ridden behind Brian on his motorcycle twice, using the helmet that was specifically bought for me and which I'm pretty sure Brian won't want to use (due to the fact that it is pink). I am not graceful getting on and climbing off, but we are working on that and I'm sure I'll get better at it given practice.
Anyway, I have a spate of tests tomorrow, and next week will have a port inserted that will make it easier to draw blood and do the monthly infusion. I hate having an i.v. inserted almost more than anything. They have such difficulty getting the i.v. in the veins in my right arm/hand that when I have to have it done, it takes multiple tries, and is torturously painful. A port should make things easier, but getting the port inserted is some kind of surgery, and I'm nervous about it. Will they knock me out? I tend to react poorly to anesthesia. Will they try to sedate me but keep me conscious? That didn't work AT ALL during my liver biopsy, and the fentanyl patches might interfere with the kind of medication they want to use for that. I'm also slightly freaked out about having a tube in my arm at all times. It seems inhuman to have tubes and things winding their way around the interior of my body. Borg have tubes on the outside, but I can't help feeling that the process has begun.
After having my biological and technological distinctiveness added to the collective, I will immediately get to test out the new port by having my monthly infusion, because by that time they just won't have tortured me enough for one day. Then of course comes the monthly shot in the stomach, the one that renders me menopausal and is the cause of the hot flashes I've been suffering with some increase in frequency.
On the other hand, my acne has finally gone away. It could be my new skin care regimen, but it's probably the hormone therapy. My nausea also seems to finally be under control, although I have not regained my appetite for anything but sweets.
We are Borg; We demand your ice cream and leftover Easter candy.
Labels: bone scan, Brian, CT scan, Dr. Hayes, fentanyl, hormone therapy, hot flash, IV, liver, motorcycle, nausea, port, star trek
